


JAOA: Following Footsteps

by BlackRose (darthneko)



Series: JAOA [26]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-31
Updated: 2008-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/BlackRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the dream isn't all it's cracked up to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JAOA: Following Footsteps

JAOA: Following Footsteps

* * *

 _(Past - Year of the Republic 24,994)_

 _"…but the blockade held, despite everything the Republic ships could do, and no reinforcements could reach beyond the renegade lines. Alone, outnumbered, weary and wounded, there was no help coming for the trapped Republic forces and the Separatists looked to carry the day and claim Choloth for their own."_

 _Muffled gasps circled the darkened creche dormitory, small figures sprawled on pillows and huddled under blankets drawing closer together as they waited, breathless, for the speaker to continue. At their center, barefoot and crosslegged and wrapped in a blanket just like her charges, the Tw'ilek caretaker paused for a heartbeat, her hushed voice dropping even lower. "The droid armies need no sleep, no food, but the 16th battalion had done without both for days and General Kenobi knew it was then or never.  The stalemate had gone on for too long; either they would break through the enemy's shield or die trying."_

 _The caretaker was a young one compared to most of her colleagues; young enough to still remember the games of her own days in the creche and to play them with a not-quite-forgotten skill that made her a favorite amongst her young charges. She was also, they all agreed, the very best storyteller, a feat that had lead to her semi-miraculous ability to herd an unruly group of sulky children off to sleep with none of the protests or resistance the other caretakers wrestled with. "Bribery," one had suggested, or "sedatives in their juice," which most of them agreed might not be entirely uncalled for on some particularly rowdy evenings. But the caretaker just smiled at her envious colleagues and didn't tell them that the real reason came half an hour after the last child was tucked into their couch and the lights were doused, when the creche was dark and quiet and all of them came creeping on little silent feet to cluster around her tiny nightlight as she spun the daily news broadcasts into stories fit for youthful ears._

 _She paused again, quick eyes flicking over her charges to count which ones were half asleep despite the story, and how many were still wide eyed and waiting for her to continue. "A front assault was no good; even the largest of the Republic's canons couldn't pierce the shield. Someone would have to penetrate the enemy's forces, find the shield generator, and take it out, and there was no one to be spared. Every able bodied man left was needed to hold the line at the canons, and no single man would be able to get past thousands of droids and take out the generator on their own. Except," she stated, holding up one finger, her shadow huge and long across the creche wall, "for one. One lone hope, a risky chance. One man willing to volunteer for the impossible; the General's own Padawan, Anakin Skywalker."_

 _Her audience gasped again, inching closer, and even the sleepiest ones were struggling to keep their eyes open because this was their favorite part. General Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker; their names were known far and wide, carried on the broadcasts, but especially here, in the depths of the Jedi Temple creche, where the heroes of the Republic were shining legends in the minds of the next generation of Jedi, larger than life and twice as thrilling to youngsters who viewed them with awe. Newscasts, as a general rule, were no fit fodder for tender young ears, but gossip made its way even into the creche and the children weren't oblivious. She offset gossip with her stories, real news of real events, reshaped and retold for youngsters who hung, eagerly, on her every word._

 _She made her voice low and urgent, breathing life into the words and her charges' imaginations. "General Kenobi called Skywalker to him and in the dead of night he sent his Padawan forth with one order - lower the shield. He didn't tell him how it could be done, because he didn't know, and he didn't ask how his Padawan would do it, just told him to take what he needed and go. So Skywalker took a handful of explosive charges and his lightsaber, and left so quietly that even their own perimeter guards didn't see him go and in the morning the General told his men that they would make their last stand, hold their ground come what may, and Force willing, the shield would fall and they would have a fighting chance at breaking through."_

 _"He did it," one little boy blurted, and the assent rippled around the circle. "He had to do it, Skywalker had to!"_

 _The caretaker raised her hands, wordlessly hushing them before she continued. "Come morning, the droid army advanced and the fighting was fierce. General Kenobi's men had to fall back, and then fall back again, and anyone could tell it was going badly for them. The men were losing hope, despite everything General Kenobi could do to lift their spirits. 'We're doomed', one captain said. 'No one can get through those lines, the man's gone to his death and taken us with him, there's no sign of him!'_

 _"General Kenobi, overhearing him, only shook his head. 'Anakin will get through,' he said. 'If there's no sign of him then you're not looking in the right places. You'll never see him coming like that.'" The caretaker raised her hand again, her voice dropped to a whisper. "'Look up.'_

 _"And who would know a Padawan as well as his own Master? The men believed the General's words, or tried to, and fought on until they had to fall back again, as far back as they could, with no where left to go and the enemies canons still shield protected and even the General was losing faith. No help was coming and maybe he had sent his Padawan into unbeatable odds, and they would all die there and the enemy would have won."_

 _A protesting whisper went around the circle, denial on every lip, and she held her hands up for silence again and didn't continue until they were all still, dozens of wide eyes staring back at her from the darkness. "What they didn't know is that Skywalker had done it. He had circled far and wide, in the one way the enemy would never suspect, and was deep behind their front line. While his Master and their men fought to hold the enemy off, he had penetrated nearly to the shield generator and could see it, clear as anything, and all that stood between him and it was a deadly squadron of battle droids."_

 _One of the youngest, a little Mon Calamari girl, squeaked from underneath her hastily raised blanket and more than a few of them drew closer together, bunched into wide eyed clumps. The caretaker brought her hands up slowly, shadows rising into monsterously tall figures behind her on the walls. "Closer and closer Skywalker crept, until he was right on top of them, until he could count the joints of the battle droids and see the console of the generators and they never once saw him, never looked in the right places, they never, ever thought to look… up."_

 _She paused, let them turn wondering eyes upwards to her raised hands, and then brought them down in a sharp clap that made every one of her charges start with yelps and squeaks. "From high atop the gutted buildings they fought between Skywalker jumped! They never looked up and he was on them before they knew it, plunging down with lightsaber in hand, a bolt from the clear sky, cutting a swathe through the droids before they could raise their shields and through to the generator. If you could have seen it it's said he never touched the ground but leaped across their heads, quick as a torva spider and twice as hard to catch, and when he reached the generator he blew it apart. The shield failed and when it drew back General Kenobi's men could see the smoke rising from the generator's explosion and they surged forward with renewed hope and nothing between their blasters and the droid army."_

 _The caretaker smiled, reaching down for her nightlight to cup it between her hands. "And it's said that when the Republic forces had all but won the day, and fought through to the enemy shield generator, all they found was the gutted hulks of cut apart battle droids and the ruin of the generator and sitting on top of it all was none other than Skywalker. It's said, if you believe it, that his first words to his Master were 'What took you so long?' and General Kenobi, because he knew his Padawan, just laughed."_

 _A sigh rippled around the circle of children. The caretaker gathered her blanket around her and climbed to her feet. "And that was the battle of Choloth. Alright, little ones. Now it's time to sleep. Off with you!"_

 _They grumbled just a little but not very much, and one by one they picked themselves up, gathered up blankets and pillows, and crept back to their sleeping couches. The caretaker made sure they all went and tucked them all back in, making the rounds of the dormitory just as she had done before the story began. Her charges were yawning, mostly, tired from the late hour even if they didn't want to admit it, but here and there a hardier voice was rehashing her story and she shushed them, reminding them that there would be time for it on the playing grounds tomorrow, and that now it was time for sleep, a fair trade that they had worked out when she first began to tell stories and that all of them adhered to for fear she might stop._

 _"Someday," one of the boys whispered as she smoothed his blanket over him, "someday I want to be just like Skywalker." It was the same thing all of them said, regardless of gender or race, and she smiled as she ruffled the little Corellian's mop of dark hair, assured him that someday he might be, and went on to the next couch and the next voice to whisper the same thing, tucking each of them in to dream of heroics in a war that, Force willing, none of them would ever see._

* * *

(Present - Year of the Republic 25,005)

It was wet; it was always wet on the moon of Pyron, perpetual drizzling rain that ranged from heavy mist to heavy downpour, day in and day out. There was water in Han's eyes and water soaking every layer of clothing he owned, squelching in his boots and his fingers were so cold and wrinkled from the wet that they were starting to look like blanched white versions of Master Yoda's, his grip on his lightsaber more from habit than any real feeling left in numbed extremities. The eternal rain made muddy sinking swamps out of earth and moss slick slides out of rock and waterfalls out of every available drop and they'd been slipping and sliding through the mess for most of the Sith cursed day with no sign of their pursuit stopping.

And now - because the Force and the universe _liked_ to make him miserable - now there were _cliffs_. Now there were cliffs with sheeting waterfalls plummeting into mist shrouded who-knew-what - Han was personally betting on sharp rocks and deep rushing rapids because the universe just liked him _that_ much - and nowhere left to run and enemies at their backs. And it should have made it just a tiny bit more bearable that the only man who could possibly be more miserable than Han was Han's Master, the man who bitterly complained about wet and cold alike in far less quantities than Pyron's moon offered, but it wasn't because now there were cliffs and Han's Master was stark raving barking _mad_.

"You're _insane!"_ Han yelled, hoarse from running and breathing more water than air and trying to be heard over the muted roar of the falls somewhere far too far below them. "Sith take you, you're completely insane!"

Anakin, his hair just as soaked and flat as his Padawan's, tunics dark wet and filth smeared, grinned in a flash of white teeth in a mud streaked face. "You knew that already," he called back. "Now come on!"

"I take it back, I take it back, I _take it back_ ," Han moaned, slipping over rock and moss after the Jedi Knight's too long stride. "I never wanted to be like you, you're Sith cursed suicidal!"

"It's only suicide if you don't make it out!" Anakin shot back. One hand snaked back, grabbing at Han's wrist, and the man's palm was a shock of warmth against Han's chilled skin. The cliff edge loomed in front of them, a long misty drop into wet clouds and the sound of plummeting water. "On three, Padawan! One! Two!"

"They never told us you were INSANE!" Han roared, his heart pounding in his throat, wishing he could close his eyes and not daring to.

"THREE!" Anakin shouted, and the cliffs were gone, the mud and moss were gone, and there was only the long empty drop into nothing, the wind tearing at hair and clothes, whistling in Han's ears, and Han couldn't even scream.

There was water beneath the clouds, a white frothed river of it, fed by the falls. Han glimpsed it for a bare second as they shot through the mist and the scream trapped in his chest almost burst free as the moment of impact came visibly closer. At the very last second Anakin's grip on his wrist tightened, hard enough to register as pain, and Han felt the Force around them like hot electric lightning playing over his skin that dragged something less scream and more wordless yell from his throat.

They hit the water with the force of cannon blasts, Anakin's Force driven push cushioning the blow in a spray of water that leapt high and wide, falling back on them in a bitter cold shower. It knocked the breath from Han's lungs and left him feeling bruised all over, as though a giant hand had snatched him from the air and slammed him flat, but Anakin's grip on his wrist never wavered, yanking him after the older man, and Han burst from the water to inhale an instinctive, water filled gasp that left him choking.

After that it was all floundering and flailing about in icy water, hampered by soaked tunics and heavy boots and swirling currents. By the time they found shore 'feeling' bruised had turned into being bruised, and cut, half frozen and too breathless and waterlogged to do more than cough when Han dragged himself onto muddy ground, his hands and knees promptly sinking several fingerwidths into the thick, cloying mess.

Pulling one hand from the muck with a sucking sound, Han rolled over and fell heavily onto his back, panting and coughing. The current was still dragging at his ankles, there was mud seeping into his ears, and all he could think of, dimly, was that it was going to take forever to dry his clothes out, never mind his lightsaber, and the boots might as well be chucked straight into recycling for all the good they'd be after this mission. Which was a shame, because they'd been brand new and only just starting to be comfortable when it all started.

Anakin, washed clean of mud but sporting a new cut across his cheek that was streaking blood down his chin and neck, collapsed with a squelch into the mud beside Han, his grin displaying far too many teeth and a glint that Han really thought the mind healers might have noticed by then. "That ought to throw them off," he said, satisfied.

Han leaned his head back, the mud sucking at his hair, and looked up into the roiling mist that shrouded the bottom of the falls from the distant tops of them. "You know," he said, conversationally, "they used to tell us stories about you, back in the creche. During the War. They made you sound heroic." He raised his pitch, mimicking a long ago caretaker. "'Skywalker fell on them from on high and the enemy never saw him coming.'" He raised one mud dripping hand, gesturing vaguely up at the cliffs, his voice dropping to normal. "Because they never looked _up_. That sort of thing."

Anakin grinned even broader, the smile crinkling around his eyes. "Nice to know my reputation precedes me."

Han snorted. "They never told us you were Sith cursed _certifiable_. Now I know why Master Kenobi went grey. What I don't understand is how he didn't take up drinking after having to put up with you!"

"He had to put up with Master Qui-Gonn before me," Anakin pointed out reasonably. "He had practice." Levering himself out of the mud, the older man struggled to his feet and held out a grimy hand to his Padawan. "Admit it, Han. You'd be _bored_ with a master like Obi-Wan. I keep you on your toes."

"And in the med bay," Han groaned, reaching to take the hand and half crawling up Anakin's outstretched arm to get to his feet. "I really take it back. I've got more sense than to want to be like you. There are one celled amoebas in this cursed _mud_ with more self preservation than you have." He raked a hand over his hair, squeezed out the worst of the mud, and gave up in disgust after a glance at his boots. "Alright, fearless Master. This is your genius plan. Now what?"

"Now," Anakin sighed, "we walk. A lot."

"More slipping," Han intoned flatly. "More mud."

"Yes," Anakin agreed, "more mud." He reached out, squeezing a dollop of said mud from Han's dripping braid. "Come on, Padawan. It's a long way back to the ships."

"R2's going to be rusted by the time we get there in this weather," Han predicted dourly, but when Anakin strode off he fell into place, steps matched by long habit with those of his Master.

[...to next stage]


End file.
